Wish Upon A Demon
by banal
Summary: Wishverse Buffy meets Buffyverse Willow. FINISHED
1. Default Chapter

AUTHOR: Megan RATING: PG-13 will do for now. WARNINGS: Femslash. Violence. Angst. It's all very sad.  
  
FEEDBACK: Oh god yes. Review me or email. smegazoid@hotmail.com. Either way, I'm under your scrutiny. THE USUAL: I do not own. I just don't. NOTES: Text encased in -------------- is flashback. Except the little one in there.  
  
1. Journey To Oz - Pt 1  
  
She sat silently on the bus staring at nothing through the window with hollow eyes. Her brow hung heavily over her young features, giving them an aged glare, even though she was only barely 18. Buffy Summers had left. Left her own body.  
  
She was lost a long time ago with her only friend.  
  
--------------------------------------------------------- The grass folded beneath the thick, rubber soles of her black boots, as she wound her way between the gravestones and round the wide trees. It was a cold night in Cleveland, and the clouds were, as usual mid-October, hovering quite ominously overhead. Buffy Summers, on full alert, scanned the perimeter for civilians. Every working night she did this now, careful not to drag any unsuspecting bank manager or student into the fight. She just didn't want anyone to wind up dead. Her gaze pierced through the blanket of fog and she listened intently to her life, focused only on one thing. Ash.  
  
Arriving in Cleveland, the slayer was young and impressionable and seemed to believe that being chosen didn't mean you had to shut out the rest of the world. It wasn't as easy to make friends as it had been in LA. In Hemery she was adored. In Cleveland, at the new school, it wasn't the same. Her secret weighed on her. Dating? When would she have time to see a guy? Shopping? You don't get paid to kill things that society doesn't believe exist. Her Watcher took up most of her time, with training and research. Slaying was her job, what she did, and no one could know about it. No one could be endangered.  
  
Then she met someone. A girl. She didn't stand out from the crowd, she wasn't extraordinary in any way, but Buffy couldn't help feeling drawn to her. A usual stop on her regular patrol was a little club. Kinda a cross between a nightclub and a youth club. She'd been lurking in the shadows, listening, feeling for them within the crowd, hoping she wouldn't be seen in her little hidey-corner. The music swirled between the dancers, all blissfully ignorant of the danger that surrounded them. Buffy's blood turned green with envy. Every now and again, even though she had resigned herself to this life, she wished, so vehemently, that she hadn't been chosen. She wished that she could just dance the night away without having to think, or touch or fight vampires, wished that she could, just for a day, live like she had in LA. No one understood what it was like. No one understood how lonely her life was. She saved people every day, and I suppose one would think that their gratitude, or the feeling that she was the balance for evil in this world, that she was here for a greater cause, or even just the fact that she had super powers would be enough to satiate her need for a life that's wasn't this one. And it was. Most of the time. But sometimes it hurt more than can be imagined. No one would understand what it's like because they don't know.  
  
She continued feeling them out, scanning the plebs, the ordinary. They walked past her to the bar from the dance floor, to the seats from the bar. A boy about her age scooped his drink from the counter and headed over towards his seat alone. 6 inches away she was, and he couldn't even fathom that there was a presence near. She sighed lowly enough for only herself to hear. Another boy passed her and joined his friend on the couch, sipping his drink, and they laughed together.  
  
Still no vampires. Her eyes continued to run through the crowd, taking in the countless living bodies in the room, jumping up and down, playing pool, drinking, laughing, dancing, singing.  
  
She froze. A pair of eyes had found her. A pair of eyes that were about 7 inches away and fast advancing on her. Girl's eyes. The slayer screamed at her to move but Buffy couldn't. Her legs were immobile, feet rooted to the ground. Half of her wanted to run, but a bigger half of her wanted to discover why she had been discovered. She hadn't moved, hadn't done anything out of routine. For weeks this had been a patrol spot and not one person had noticed her. Until now.  
  
Why?  
  
"Hi." She said. The girl had dark brown hair that highlighted her piercing blue irises and it sat just below her shoulders, which belonged to a delicate, almost elfin frame. Her features weren't small but they were closed, kinda frightened, yet at the same time she had so much confidence it radiated around her. Her hands gently gripped a small blue glass, the littlest finger nervously rubbing on the clear substance. They were elegance in a nutshell, even despite the short-cut nails. Her skin glowed with the lightest tan and looked as if it was rather thick. She was slightly taller than the slayer but mimicked her style. Tank top, trousers, although she wore sneakers.  
  
Buffy's eyes flew wide. "What?" She hadn't even found anything to kill to get her out of this foul, jealous mood, and already she had to get out. The last thing she wanted was someone inviting themselves into her life. Best they stayed out. It would be less painful for both of them.  
  
"Uh..." The other girl's confident glow faded a little. "Sorry I, uh, just saw you on your own and figured, y'know, I'd see if you were ok, 'cause I know a little bit about being on your own, y'know, its not the nicest thing it the world, I mean I know that goes without saying but, heh, that's me! Undisputed queen of the totally obvious cliché."  
  
Buffy listened to the ramble in full. Couldn't help it. It was adorable, like a child. A child that knew long words... Undisputed? [Guess who cuts class to play with a punch bag...]  
  
The taller girl apologized. "Sorry, it's just... a habit. A bad habit. I babble and yammer and, on occasion, I have been known to ramble."  
  
Buffy's eyes softened. "I'm Buffy," she finally admitted.  
  
"I'm Ash," was countered, and she broke into a huge grin. --------------------------------------------------------  
  
It was dark on the bus at the minute, so finding the hastily made sandwiches was proving to be a difficult task. She raked her arm through the backpack, throwing an extra top to the side, muttering all the while. Nothing was going right and she was trying. She really was trying.  
  
-------------------------------------------------------- The two had quickly bonded and it wasn't long before she was in on Buffy's secret. Ash was a crazy, tomboyish creature who had some very intriguing half-hours of madness. Buffy loved them. She was out of the ordinary. Instead of shopping and checking out and dating 'cute guys', a bit of a wild child, she preferred kickboxing and track. She didn't own a skirt and never screamed at spiders. Yet she retained this inherently female elegance that Buffy tried in vain to grasp. She was always clean and smelled so fresh and welcoming that the slayer, after a while, began to miss it when she wasn't around. Ash was the sister that Buffy never had in so many ways. Buffy found herself smiling more often than not and realised what she had been craving. A companion.  
  
However, the other ways, the ways in which she wasn't the sister that she never had, were less abundant but much more powerful. After the first month, Buffy found herself not only noticing how comfortable she and Ash were together, but everything about the dark haired girl. Buffy saw the way she wrinkled her nose when she laughed, the way her eyes glinted at the sign of anything naughty, the way she moved, how gracefully she fought. When Ash was happy, Buffy was happy. When Ash was pained, Buffy was pained. When Ash cried, Buffy cried.  
  
Which is why it killed her when she died.  
  
It had been the usual patrol - cold, busy and dark. As always, Buffy flew through the charnel houses, dusting left, right and centre. That is, until she was met by one of the best challenges in months. There was nothing special about him, just another newbie vamp to her, but for some reason he presented a challenge. She wasn't ill. In fact, she felt better than she had done for a long time. She had someone to share with, training was going well, and, honestly, she found herself enjoying the fight, taking his low and high punches in her stride, welcoming the buzz. At one point he even had her on her back, leering over her, lusting after her neck...  
  
Which was when Ash jumped in, dragging him away from the slayer.  
  
Buffy's anger raged. "What are you doing here!?"  
  
Ash was visibly upset. "I-I thought that... that I'd come help."  
  
Buffy softened and sighed. Inching her way slowly, she moved towards her friend and placed a hand on her arm, which tensed under her touch. "Ash, it's too dangerous out here. They're str-" She pushed the girl out of the way, and countered the vamp's attack, blocking his harsh backhander. Missing the uppercut, she found herself on the floor again, sprawled next to the brunette. Spotting his lunge, she used his own weight to throw him over her tiny, floored form and continued her lesson. "Stronger than you think."  
  
They both staggered to the floor. "Stay."  
  
As soon as he stood, Buffy had him in a series of hits, never letting up. She was focused and ready and fired and enthralled.  
  
So much so she didn't even feel the footsteps dragging away her only companion.  
  
Thus was the last time she saw her Ash. ----------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"UGH!" She shoved the top back in the backpack and threw her herself against the uncomfortably wooden seat. Nervously, after hearing a crack, she swivelled round and, as inconspicuously as possible, checked over the chair for any visible breakages. Spotting none, she swivelled back again and resumed staring through her own reflection out into the enthralling nothing, doing nothing, thinking nothing.  
  
It was the safest way.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------- It had been a week since it happened. Over the seven days, Joyce Summers had noticed, Buffy had receded further and further into herself. She spoke less, she ate less. She went out more and came in later. Joyce was at a loss. She had thought they had gotten somewhere, she and Buffy, after the burning gym incident. Of course, at first, it was a bit mind-boggling to think of but as soon as she came to terms with the fact that Buffy was a superhero, they talked it out and, eventually, things returned to something resembling normal. Joyce knew the patrol routes if she needed Buffy at any time, the slayer had a cell phone and they had regular girlie nights, just the two of them, Ben, Jerry and some Fried Green Tomatoes.  
  
But today, had been the worst. The night before last, Buffy hadn't come home, Joyce had been to work, come back and not a single sign of her daughter's return could be seen. She'd called her watcher. Nothing. Twighlight was settling in, she could see, between the trees, and the night was calling. She picked up the receiver and dialled Buffy's cell. After getting no answer, she reached for a coat and did the only thing she could do - she went in search of her little girl.  
  
---  
  
Buffy closed her eyes and continued flailing at her newest victim. She didn't even care that she was the hunter, the killer. Hell, she liked it. Made it easier to kill. No mercy, no loose ends. No civilians. She felt her way from one to the other, running swiftly, soaring into another red-hot attack on the next in line. Behind her eyelids a fire burned, it's flames swirling into bittersweet pictures of orange and blue. Her eyes stung hotly, as the image of Ash invaded her mind again, and her speed picked up. She flew from one to the other, pushing all of her anger, pain and loneliness into her muscles.  
  
"Buffy! Oh, thank God you're alright."  
  
"Mom. Mom leave! Leave now." Buffy called frantically to her mother, fending off a rather large vampire.  
  
"I was so worried. I thought I'd lost you." Joyce shouted back.  
  
"Mom, can we talk about this later? Like when I'm not fighting Mr. Heavy for the world?" She rolled around him and came up in front of another - not so heavy, but very axe wielding.  
  
"I just wanted to make su- hey! Get away from my daughter with that axe!" Mrs. Summers was on a role. The vampire in question stopped, leaving Mr. Heavy to resume his attack and turned his attention to the older woman.  
  
"Buffy! Help!" She yelled as he began to sprint towards her. "Buffy!"  
  
Shoving Mr. Heavy vehemently, Buffy fished into the ankle of her right boot and grabbed a knife and, after a swift throw, it hurtled through the night.  
  
Into her mother's temple.  
  
He had caught up, shifted his footing and pulled Joyce into the knife's path.  
  
She couldn't moved. Couldn't close her eyes. Couldn't breathe.  
  
"Mom?" Somehow her feet had started to take her to her mother.  
  
"Mom?" Her eyes turned to water, her arms hung limp and her chest heaved. Still she couldn't close her eyes. Joyce's eyes stared directly through her baby girl. Empty. Lifeless. Dead.  
  
"Mommy?" She stood inches from her rigid form, propped against a tree, black blood dribbling from the steel nightmare protruding from the right side of her head, ugly and evil. And cried.  
  
A sharp slice floored her. Looking up into the sky she reached up a desperate hand to her lips and shrieked at the pain. On the right side, her lip had been split up to the nostril and down to the labrette. Blood flowed freely into her mouth as she yelled, and she felt the vomit rise through her throat. Rolling onto her knees, she proceeded to throw up on the grass, wincing every time the sick hit the slash, vomiting every time she winced at the sudden pain.  
  
Then, feeling a thud of a heavy foot on her back, she swallowed the pain, she swallowed the regurgitated days alcohol, she swallowed every piece of anger, and let it churn in her stomach.  
  
Nothing after that was remembered. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------  
  
The hardest thing about saving the world for Buffy was having nothing to save it for.  
  
Through the nothingness, a small yellow flash caught in the slayer's eyes.  
  
WELCOME TO SUNNYDALE  
  
TBC...  
  
**************************************************************************** **********************************  
  
Cheery. I know, I'm sorry. I try not to be so happy I really do... Anyway, drop me a line; tell me what you think.  
  
Cross safely x 


	2. Journey To Oz Pt 2

A/N: Words encased in [ ] are thoughts. Enjoy.  
  
2. Journey To Oz - Pt. 2  
  
She lifted her head, which was spinning, and tried to clear her thoughts and vision. The brightest light had scored her eyes and the witch found herself temporarily blinded. [Oh noooo! It's not dangerous... Not at all.] The spell had been more powerful than she had anticipated and found its way to her nerve system, sending it on overload. She tried to quickly get to her feet, only to feel a hard bump on her head. [Well, that is gonna hurt tomorrow.] She rubbed her head absently and shifted on the floor a bit. Everything was so loud she couldn't differentiate between the noises.  
  
Yet she soon found she wished for that privilege again.  
  
Regaining her vision, she recognised the old factory in town, with new twists. Lots of twists. Vampire shaped twists. The factory was cold and had a lack-lustre smell about it, complying with the war that was passing as she willed herself to stand up, avoiding, maybe even glaring at, the wooden beam that had violated her just a moment ago. She figured the floor was possibly the worst place to be during this kind of party.  
  
Everything raged around her as she viewed it sullenly. People were fighting and screaming and it was cold. Her hand found the fence behind as she stumbled into it, backing away from the hell she had woken in. Then, as in answer to some silent, subconscious prayer she had been reciting, the witch found the very person her sore eyes needed to see.  
  
Leaning heavily against the wooden railing she stared at the young blond, who was fighting vehemently with fire and patience? Willow couldn't see anger in her punches, or rage in her kicks. Walking steadily, the slayer backhanded a vampire and he crashed into the hostages, knocking at least four people down on the way, then another two on his escape route. Buffy didn't even notice though. She just kept to path that took her to the Master. Go for the Mr. Big, he's in control. It was a good plan. A military plan.  
  
But Buffy was never militant. She had always said the most important ones are the ones who don't belong here, the ones who don't know what to do or who to fight. The clueless, the lucky, the blind, the ignorant, depending on how her mood varied, she used different words. But never her initial attitude changed. She was a hero and the witch always felt that fear of losing Buffy in the fight because she didn't focus on it if any innocents were around. Willow didn't feel that fear of losing Buffy in the fight now. Somehow it had already happened.  
  
The realisation played over in Willow's mind and she feared what world she'd walked into. Or... poofed into. There were bodies everywhere and the dank smell of blood and fear stained the cool Californian air, even during the Sun's reign. It took her back to when the Master once threatened to rise back home. She had walked into a room that felt like this world. It had felt like their world. This WAS their world. She may still be human but even Buffy wasn't really Buffy.  
  
Suddenly, she was shaken.  
  
"Wake up, ba... WHAT is that OUTFIT?" He stood in disgust. Willow, slightly taken aback, glanced over herself, seeing nothing different in her apparel. Her brow furrowed as she stared back at Xander, who was still frozen in confusion. Noticing a small hand diving towards his shoulder she jumped back against the fence.  
  
"Xander look out!" He pivoted under the hand and delivered a hard blow to her stomach but she recovered quickly and scored a jab at his jaw with her right, rounding the hit with a swift left hook and finally kicking him to the floor. Being challenged by a cross bearing Giles, he ran out of an exit, looking back in game face at his Will. She stood dejectedly against the fence, staring between him and Giles, too shocked to cry. Giles, nodding slightly at her with an empty smile, shrugged his navy-blue jacket back on his shoulders and ran to rescue some more victims, still the hero, but a cold, battle-worn hero. But she pushed it to the back her mind, [we have time to break down over this later on Rosenburg], and cried out to her other friend.  
  
"Buffy!" The slayer turned and looked at the strange redhead, taking in the bright clothes and obvious cluelessness.  
  
"You're not from around here." It was more of a statement than a question so an intimidated Willow didn't respond verbally, just shook her head fiercely. Buffy peered curiously at the girl before her. She REALLY wasn't from around here and that pushed her buttons. The fact that she knew this shy, fuzzy, pink girl had seen something like this before hit them with a sledgehammer. All she had to do was figure out if this was a good thing or not.  
  
Her ears picked up a wail. [Later then.] Picking up on her earlier pace, she began another long walk up to the Master.  
  
Willow, slowly piecing together the world she had landed in, stopped thinking and ran to Buffy.  
  
"Buffy, no! Don't!" The slayer didn't turn back to pass a questioning, not even irritated, glance. "Buffy!" The redhead grabbed her arm and spun her around. "Don't. This is not the way it happens. This is not how you die," the slayer heard. She began listening. "And, Goddess help me, if I can stop it happening at all, I will."  
  
Buffy stood and stared down the girl, who, despite her earlier show of something less than bravery, stood alike, facing her off, near challenging her. And Buffy liked a challenge.  
  
"Come with me." She finally said. Taking a firm hold of the young woman's wrist, she led her, a little violently, through the melee, stopping every now and again to dust another vamp, quickly and pun free. Willow, running on autopilot, jotted down a useless mental note.  
  
[Punless Buffy... Scarier than a Tweedless Giles.]  
  
TBC **************************************************************************** ***  
  
So, pray tell what you thought of that. Adios.  
  
Cross safely x 


	3. Hold Up, Dorothy What's Going On?

**3. Hold Up, Dorothy. What's Going On?**

"Wow." She paused to collect her thoughts after the girl's other-dimensionly revelation. "You really aren't from around here."

Willow giggled a little to herself. "What's funny?" Buffy asked, not threateningly, but seriously enough for it to be taken as a warning. Willow, chided, stopped her giggle and reassured the that it wasn't a mocking laugh.

They sat on the dirty yellow quilt of a double bed in a one-room, one-bathroom, motel hotspot. The wall was the same dreary thin-urine colour that you find in most undecorated motels, an off-white-yellow colour. There was a little TV with a black and white picture that stayed off, due to the lack of arial, a kettle, for those extra caffeine boosts needed to stay awake to spot the rat-sized cockroaches you could really do without choking on during the night, a bed, obviously, God knows why, and a little table lamp to focus on when the caffeine sinks in because the TV doesn't work. Apart from those little objects the room was bare and lifeless. It had no character or stories to tell, and the two women sat like black spots on the bed, both with novel-length adventures to recount. They were extraordinary beings in a cardboard box.

"It's weird. When I saw you back then I couldn't help but think how different you are to my Buffy but now, talking to you, I'm beginning to see the similarities." She replied.

"Oh." Buffy stopped to think again, giving the witch time enough to study her face. She sure looked like Buffy but there were a few little differences, one of which being the mother of all scars that ruined her delicate lips. Her posture was different, there was a lack of slouch, as if she sat with a purpose. She was hyper aware of everything, and her features seemed harder, older. In her eyes was a sharpness that Willow had never really noticed in her Buffy's.

"So... Willow?" The redhead nodded in confirmation. "So, what am I like? Where you came from?"

"Well, you're not completely different. You look exactly the same. Apart from that scar." She pointed to it and Buffy filched. Willow, surprised, withdrew her hand. "Sorry. Does it hurt? How did you get it?"

"Just a vamp gave me some trouble. And no. No, it doesn't hurt. I just don't like it." Everyone is sensitive to their appearance, but Willow couldn't help but feel that there was more to it than Buffy was letting on. Some things just don't change. Understanding she was treading on thin ice, she let the subject drop, filing away the information for a later date.

"Um... You usually wear different clothes. Brighter clothes. You've got a really nice yellow top that you wore to school one day which I r--"

"Is this a dimension for the brainless?" She cut in. Spotting a look of hurt on the girl she apologised. "No offence."

"Well... a little taken... Anyway, no. I don't even understand what you mean by that."

Buffy sighed. "Everyone knows that demons and vamps are attracted to bright colours." She said matter of fatly, a little fed up. "Besides," she added, "yellow is just gross."

"Well you.. the other you... doesn't like it either. I do, but your Mom gave it to you so you can't get rid of it until she won't notice that's it's-- Are you alright, Buffy?" The blond was staring at her wide-eyed. "What did I--"

"She's alive?" She almost shouted the question.

"What? I... Who?"

"Mom." Buffy lost herself for a second, almost giving in to the urge to cry. "She's alive?" Her voice was now hushed and cracked on both words.

"Yeah." Willow replied, almost as quiet.

If it was possible to be jealous of yourself Buffy was right there, so jealous she couldn't breathe. Why should the other her get to have a Mom? Why does this-dimension-Buffy get the shit deal? She has friends, she wears fashionable clothes. She's probably had a boyfriend or forty. And anyone else who thought this would think themselves crazy, but she even goes to school and that could be one of the worst things. She doesn't have to hide in the shadows and only come out at night. She doesn't wake up at dusk and go to bed at dawn. She has a life.

Why couldn't I have a life?

"Oh Buffy, I'm sorry." Willow consoled, it finally hitting her. "Oh Goddess, I'm so sorry."

Buffy held back most of the tears as the young woman before her cried slowly, unable to say much more. She must've known my Mom. We must be good friends.

The two young women sat together, each taking comfort in the other's presence, but still aware of the space between them. Buffy took the time to wonder within herself as to what the other Buffy did with her Mom. Did she take her for granted? Did they argue? Did she know about the slayer business? That question hit her hard and she couldn't help but wonder if her Mom was still alive because, as Willow said, she didn't know of demons and vampires and Hell and all other things that are regarded as life in this place. Her Mom died because of her, no question, but this just set the guilt bonfire alight.

Willow herself sat and watched Buffy even more, all the while listening to her ambition to return to her own Sunnydale whistle as it slipped away down the dark paths that she figured out were now the hard yet vulnerable girl before her. As soon as she woke, blinded and battered from the spell, fresh in a new war, all she wanted to do was find a way back and hoped that Giles would somehow find out and save her. Now, the curiosity she felt for this Buffy begged her to stay, begged her to help because, even though Buffy sometimes denies it and Giles disapproves, one of the reasons Buffy is Buffy is because she has her friends. This Buffy was colder than a January morning and hard as stone. Or so she appeared. The shy redhead may not be the power behind the investigation but she could always read people, Buffy being a favourite subject. Behind the callous exterior, she could see it like a firefly in a glass lantern, was a broken spirit who never stopped crying.

And she knew, the longer she was here, the harder leaving would be.

Finally, Willow spoke again."In my reality, it wasn't your Mom that died. It was you."

Buffy's eyebrows hit the ceiling. "Okay. Wasn't expecting to hear that. So how can I parade around school in a yellow top?"

"Well," Willow entered program 'explain', "when the Master tried to rise you went down to stop him and after he bit you he dropped you into some water. You were unconscious so you drowned but Xander brought you back life with CPR an... then..."

Buffy, still listening, reached out to poke the redhead. She had stopped moving, talking... maybe breathing. Something was wrong.

"And Xander is...?" She waited expectantly. "Hello?" Nothing. "Willow?"

Just as Buffy thought she was going to have to hit the girl, with the smallest of voices, she spoke.

"Remember the vampire back at the factory?" She breathed to the floor. Her red hair fell forward across her eyes as her head hung low and sullen. The slayer shook her head, afraid to speak lest she frighten the witch, and was caught, as she raised her eyes to Buffy's, in the redhead's grieving expression. The slayer said nothing, just let the girl bite her bottom lip in a effort to stop herself from crying, and carry on with the story. "No, I wasn't expecting you to." The pale skin that was wrapped around elfin features grew paler, almost transparent, and her cheeks flushed red. "The one that had hold of me at the fence. Dark hair, yet high..." A little tear spilled onto her cheek as she described him but her voice never faltered.

"Yes. I remember." She did.

Willow nodded. "Xander."

"Oh." She tried to figure out how she felt about this. On the one hand, he had saved her life and they were best friends, but on the other, she had never met him. For Willow, she thought, finding out that your best friend is dead in one dimension and alive in another must be a bit like finding out your Mom is alive with another you in the same kinda situation. "I think I understand how you feel."

"Buffy usually does." The redhead smiled a sad smile and was consoled a little when she found one returned.

The two, unsure of what exactly to do now, sat in a tense silence. Buffy ran over the little informative things that Willow had provided her with. Sunnydale should've been her home, Rupert Giles should've been her watcher, and she and Willow should've been best friends along with Xander. Her Mom should still be alive. Really, seeing an upside to having this knowledge was beginning to become impossible. If anything, it just served to depress her, thinking that somewhere else in the world? universe? multiverse? how DOES this work? was another her with a perfect life.

Willow, again, watched Buffy. She had seen her visibly relax in the time and conversation passed. Clearly, she was always meant to be a friend. The young witch knew she could help Buffy in so many ways here. She could be the friend she needed, give her the support and reassurance that everyone could do with now and again. Buffy seemed to have no one here. Not even Giles...

"GILES!" She cried.

"How's that?" Buffy questioned.

"Giles was meant to be your watcher here in Sunnydale."

"The guy that asked for me?"

Willow brow furrowed. "What?"

"Well," Buffy explained, "up in Cleevland my watcher got a call about the Master and said that some guy named Rupert Giles wanted to see me." She feigned the worst British accent possible. "Urgently," she reverted to her own voice again, "he said." She paused and looked directly at Willow. "Now I get why."

"Well, he doesn't know I'm here but could really shed some light on this whole thing. He was a magick badass in his day." She nodded mater of factly, a smiled a wide smile, relaxing into Buffy's company.

Buffy smiled back at the sweet girl before her. She seemed far too soft and naive to be tainted by this sort of world, a world killing and death and blood, whatever dimension it be in and however obvious it is. She had a young nature about her, a childlike disposition that veiled an old soul that had seen and done many things that people never see, better yet, don't believe in. The slayer's eyes scanned Willow and she shook her head at the pink and white. It would never do.

"We have to get you out of those clothes." Then noticing the confusion, possibly shock, in the green eyes, she changed her phrasing. "Into something darker. Vamps aren't afraid of me here. They think they're invincible." She explained a little bitterly, thinking back to her dream of being feared and revered. "I'd rather you felt safer. That way you won't get jittery."

"Oh, don't worry, Buffy, I always feel safe with you." Willow reeled off absently, searching the room for something to wear. "Um.. where are these clothes coming from?"

"Oh.. Sorry." Buffy shook herself from her thoughts on that last comment. She got off the bed and went to the far corner to retrieve her backpack. Were we only friends? Pulling out a small, dark khaki jumper and black pants, she passed them to Willow. "I wear them pretty long so they should fit you." She added, taking in the length of the witch's fabric-covered legs.

"Thanks." Replied the redhead, and, when Buffy turned around to put her backpack back, pulled of the pink jumper. Buffy, having dumped the rucksack back in the corner of the room, turned and began to speak again.

"I've got a spare set of-- Oh God, I'm sorry." She spun back around and hung her head guiltily in front of the bag in the corner, which she somehow felt was staring at her in a very disapproving manner, thankful she didn't see the girl's expression.

"It's.. it's ok, Buffy. I thought you'd turned around that's all." Willow was pulling on the tight green jumper and wondered if she should keep her tights on. Nah. Peeling them off, she wrapped them in the pink jumper with her skirt and put on the fitting black combat pants.

"I was gonna say I've got a spare pair of sneakers that aren't as white as yours. They're black." Oh, how articulate. It was actually quite hard to say something intelligent when the image of a smooth, cream-coloured torso invaded your mind.

"Thanks, but they might not fit me. I'm a size bigger than you." Sliding her foot inside one of them she noticed the tag on the tongue wasn't Buffy's usual size... but a size bigger. She shrugged and tied the lace up. Must be a dimension thing. Sliding the other foot in the second sneaker, she flushed again, remembering the embarrassment, but even more embarrassed that she was embarrassed. It always got to her when Buffy saw any of her... but so little? She barely saw her stomach and it made her tingle. She finished up tying the lace.

"All set." Came a voice from behind Buffy.

She turned around again, safe that nothing was visible this time but admired the tight khaki on the girl, and smiled sheepishly. "Okay then. We'll get going." She held out her hand to Willow, who took it automatically, such is the way of Buffy and Willow of old, and smiled again. I could get used to this.

Willow looked down at their joined hands, noting how the slayer had grabbed her wrist forcefully at the factory and now offered a hand. She grinned to herself as Buffy started opening the door, and swivelled her hand around in the blonde's, entwining their fingers.

Looking back and down at their hands then to Willow, she winked at the redhead and they exited the motel as the sun settled just over the horizon, ready to throw the town into darkness again.

Wahey. Hand holding. Saucy stuff.

Cross safely x


	4. Okay Maybe Oz Is A Little Different

**4. Okay. Maybe Oz is a little different.**

Buffy moves me around to the side of her and shuts the door. Setting off on our little jaunt to Giles' apartment - good job she knows where we're going incase he doesn't live at the same place - she starts a little skip in her step. I can't help myself and join her in her jubilation. Besides, not like I wanted cold, depressive Buffy around again for too long. My Buffy gets sad at times but the feeling that this Buffy despairs about herself and her calling is a little too obvious.

She's so beautiful. Even though I can see that the smile on her face is almost purely for my benefit, it shines through the dusty twighlight and the sparkle in her eyes tells me that I am perhaps the tiniest morsel of salvation she's been looking for.

I can't even hear what she's saying to me. Something about Cleveland. I don't know. Maybe about Cleveland in my part of town? Nope. I'm clueless. She could be talking about cheese grating badgers for all I care and I'd still nod and smile, just to keep the grin playing on her features. I like to think I make her happy.

We pass one of the numerous graveyards bestowed upon Sunnydale, there were possibly - probably - more here, and I see the sun pass behind a crypt. She's stopped talking now and is scanning the graveyard, her ears pinched upward, eyes dancing over the short grass. She's feeling them out, I can tell. I've seen Buffy do this many times. It's like she can smell them, or taste them. She lets go of my hand and I might have whined a little, lacking the warmth and safety of her tiny but powerful fingers, but I'm not sure. Still my only concern is her.

I know it's only twighlight so, really, vamps can't come out yet but still, the hair on the nape of my neck jumps to attention and I honestly couldn't tell you if it's through fear or excitement. Being with Buffy, whichever Buffy, makes me feel more safe than if I was in a 7 inch think iron suit. My Buffy would go to any length to protect me. I don't think this Buffy is much different.

Satisfied that I'm safe, she returns to me, walking on my right, the side closest to the cemetery, and takes my hand in hers again. I bite my bottom lip and listen to the wind, closing my eyes, just feeling her.

Perhaps not the best of times to question this but my mind floats over the word 'gay'. I don't think I'm gay. But then how do you know? People say, when it comes to things you should just KNOW, that when you know, you'll just know. But how do you really know? Maybe they're just lying to make it sound simpler than it actually is.

Hm.

So. Plan B.

Okay... Gay icons... Do I even know any gay icons? Gayiconsgayiconsgayicons... How do they become icons anyway? Is there a special iconologist who just points at them and says "There you go, you're an icon." I wonder if he has a uniform? Or she? Would it have a lit--

Tangent alert.

Back to subject matter.

Hm. Gay icons didn't work. Plan C then? Mental undressage. Undress who? Undress Halle Berry? Undress Angelina Jolie? Undress Joan Crawford? Undress Buffy? Hm. Ever noticed that if you think a word too much it loses it's meaning and just becomes confusing? Perhaps it was a bad idea anyway. She's right next to me. She can probably smell what I'm thinking.

Settling on kinda gay, along with the compulsory squint when saying it, I've decided just to go back to feeling Buffy - in the clean way - and let my thoughts once again list just why I'm so drawn to her.

I know they're trivial, these things - walking on my right, guiding me by hand, giving me clothing - but they mean the world to me. They make me important to her.

I guess that makes me pretty important.

----

We're half way across town now and it almost feels like I'm back in my own Sunnydale. There's no visible fire anywhere, the shops are closed and sat comfortably between each other and no gang war has attempted to contact us yet. The only thing that betrays this place is not my home is the stifling air of tension and Buffy's posture. Her frame has visibly shifted and she's on full alert now that the night has settled in.

Suddenly, I find myself against a cold granite backboard. Huddling in a sheltered shop door, the shadows, once again, being one of my protectors, I can feel the other right beside me.

"Buffy, what is it?" I whisper to her anxiously.

"Vampire." She rasps, her head tilted slightly away from me, listening for the demon's movements.

"I can help if--" Cut off sharply by a strong index finger on my lips I freeze, and watch her, waiting for some sort of signal. Catching my eyes with hers, I exhale deeply and the condensation catches on her finger. She hesitates a little in leaning to say something, then grins maliciously.

"Stay." Is the only word she says, and then turns the stone corner. Shaking my head slightly I slide down the wall, my heart finally slowing down, maybe skipping a beat now and then, mouth dry from the extreme adrenaline rush I just got from being that close to her lips.

Still shaking my head I reach the floor with a small thud, and whisper to no one and everyone: "Oh goddess."

-------------------------------------------------------------

Not going far she says. He's only in the next cemetery she says. Just a little jog SHE SAYS.

My chest is heaving. Absolutely and completely heaving. I'm sure it wants me to die for putting it through that. Standing up I emit a little noise due to the stitch in my side.

"Are you ok, Will?" She asks me. Still a little hunched over, my chest still complaining, I glare at her sideways. The Eye of Shame. It's a power in it's own right. No wonder I made such a good teacher. "If it makes you feel any better you're in better shape than most." She looks a little guilty and immediately searches around the graveyard for the vamp we were chasing. Or somewhere to hide from me.

"I think I saw him dip behind one of the crypts." Buffy says professionally. "I'm gonna check it out." Swinging around one of the headstones, she stalks soundlessly up to the crypt and round to the back. I wait where I am, trembling a little, not sure what to expect.

Seeing her round the other side of the crypt, I sigh. Half because she wasn't hurt, half because he's still out there somewhere and I've got all night to look forward to this torture. I swear Buffy shaves decades off my life expectancy.

Beckoning me to her with a small hand motion, I obey and move as quietly as possible to be near her. Upon arriving, I notice what she was so confused about. You can see the back of every crypt, more or less, from this one. Obviously he's not behind them.

"Inside them, Buffy. It would make more sense. Check inside the crypts."

She nods viciously and sets to work.

It's odd, now I know I'm looking at the reason she sits upright and is always so sensitive to the atmosphere and surroundings. She crouches down and moves around the side of the old stone box, under the window so as not to be seen. Her right hand is gripping the stake firmly and her boots, no matter how heavy they really are, may as well be made from air. She stands on no ill-placed stick, makes no leaves rustle. Even her breathing can't be heard. And as the moonlight paints her expression, I see a cruel grin and the sharpest eyes in existence.

She's hunting.

And I'm hooked.

She moves from crypt to crypt gracefully and I tag along, mentally arguing with myself as to if cheese was clumsy and noisy, or chalk was. Well, whichever one it is, I'm that one. My sneakers crackle in the darkness, clothing rubbing against other bits of clothing making that horrid 'zwoosh' noise that always happens with frictionised fabric. Frictionised... Is that a word?

There are so many of them as well, all lined up, one after the other. Crypts, not words. And everytime she opens a door, prompting me to, once again, start slightly shaking in anticipation, once again, there's nothing but blackness inside and, once again, we move onto the next building. It's actually beginning to get a bit disappointing and I can see her in her eyes that she's not having as much fun as she was.

Gently, we move around to another door, and she grips the latch, careful not to make a sound. I, as always, stand off to the side a little, waiting unshiftingly beside her, for her. It creaks open slowly, after years of sitting unmoved and unoiled, swinging into the black room.

We wait.

And wait.

Still waiting.

"Nothing." She admits to me quietly, careful no one else heard. "God." She sighs, and starts moving again. I gently grin. Only Buffy could get pissed off because there were no monsters around.

Or not.

In a shadow of the voice I associate with Buffy Summers, I hear her say it.

"Mom?"

--------------------------

It's hideous. Her hair is a tangled mess of soil and moss, barely resembling the perm I had got used to seeing it in. It's stuck thin and rigidly out of her skull and the mud has made it clump together in places.

"Mom?" She repeats.

Her skin's dirty and has leathery appearance to it, stained from the endeavor she must have gone to get out from under 6 foot of packed in soil. No dogs dug up Mrs. Summers. Mrs. Summers dug up Mrs. Summers.

"Mom?" A third time.

But the only thing I can see, excluding the patches of decomposed skin, excluding the torn and withered burial clothes, excluding the bent and broken form she stands in, the hunch, one leg turned slightly in, one shoulder hanging down, is her eyes.

They are completely white. No irises. No pupils. No life. Nothing. Just white.

"MOM!?" My head jerks to Buffy. Her face has changed colour. I had imagined it to be a pale colour but it isn't.

She's bright red and panting heavily.

"MOMMY!?" She cries. "LISTEN TO ME! LISTEN!" She's screaming at her mother, physically leaning into her face, shouting, trying to get a reaction. Any reaction. She grabs Joyce's right shoulder and vigorously shakes it, moving her whole body. Mrs. Summers just stands there. The way she's stood, I think she's looking behind me, through me. I don't think she can see anything. Or feel much.

She can't feel Buffy's shortcut fingernails as they rake down the tattered white sleeves covering her arms. Can't see how desperately the slayer is trying to provoke a movement. Can't hear how drilling the sobs are wracking her little girl's body.

She's completely broken. Her knees give way and she sinks to her mother's ankles, a crying, hopeless mass of pain.

I want to touch her but I'm frightened. I don't know what of. Hysteria is a volatile thing. You never know what to do for the best. You think that you should say something, but they may not hear you. You think that maybe you should reach for them, but fear they'll react badly, turn on you. But she can't seem to be able to move. She's just laid there, hugging her dead mother's legs, screaming for her to come home. Screaming that she's sorry, that she never meant it to be this way. That's she's alive really. I told her so.

Suddenly I wonder if I am that morsel of salvation she needed.

"Come home!! Please!" She shrieks up to white eyes and rotting flesh. And her head hangs low into the skirt next to her cheeks. "Please." She begs through tears.

And I realise that I haven't moved. Can I? Can I really move? Should I? Maybe if I just left... I could find Giles. He could just get rid of me.

"Please don't leave me." Immediately I drop to the floor and wrap her in my arms. I don't care if she's talking to me or not.

I can't leave her. I just can't. Not like this.

"Buffy." I say quietly into her waiting for a response I know I won't get. "Buffy." Trying to touch her somewhere inside. Somewhere that hasn't been touched in a long time. "Buffy we have to go. It's not safe." Trying to appeal to the protector in her. "Please Buffy," I beg slowly, "we can't stay here. You can't stay like this." I'm still getting no answer.

Looking back up at Joyce I wonder how in hell I'm not curled up with Buffy. Mrs. Summers was not my mother, but she was my friend. She never turned me away.

Please, Buffy, get up. "Please, Buffy, get up."

Nothing. She is still sobbing. Still rambling between tears.

Okay, resolve. Magic magic. Please, Goddess, let this work.

Using every ounce of physical, mental and magical strength I own, I focus on Buffy, and pull at her with the arms I had covered her with earlier. I can feel a shift. She doesn't want to move but she's exhausted. She can't hold out much longer. Again, I tug at her body from where my arms are under hers, trying to drag her away from this corpse. She's fighting me and it hurts. It hurts that I'm fighting my best friend. It hurts so much it burns. But the fire stems in the fact that she has no idea what to do. As long as I have known Buffy, and I cannot see this being any different, she is a control freak and will go to any measure to stay in it. And when she loses it, she doesn't know how to deal. Until now, I never understood just how significant that was.

Finally I get a bigger shift and her arms have been dislodged.

"No! NO! Let me GO! Mom!" She's screaming again. She sounds like a child. Anyone would think I was killing her. She's still reaching out for her, trying to hold on.

"Buffy!" She continues reaching for Mrs. Summer's body. "Buffy look at me!" Her arms droop as all of her hope dies, but still she looks to the body. "Now!" Her head jerks to mine and I let my own hang low for a second, bracing myself for the expression to come. Bracing myself for her eyes. Anger, pain, fire. Whatever. I can take it. The last thing Buffy needs if for me to falter. To cry. So I look up.

And I cry. Because she has never looked so beautiful. Glinting fervently at me, her tears run from her eyes and down her cheek relentlessly, flashing in the silver of the moon. Her hair has barely changed, remaining in the plaits she had been donning since my arrival, but a few panicked strands had strayed from the tie, and wavered nervously in the night wind. I gently tuck them behind her ear and wipe away a tear hopelessly, knowing that another will replace it instantaneously.

I told her. "That is not your Mother." She whimpers at me, and I cry more. "She's dead." The delicate creases of pain in her forehead expand as her face contorts into a picture of pure sadness. She is so beautiful. Something catches my eye in the distance. What is that? A cat. It was pretty fast. Maybe I should check it out. Could be so--

"I know." She says finally, voice high and riddled with guilt. Immediately my attention falls to her. "And it's my fault."

"Buffy, you can't save everyone. It is not your fault."

She snorts before crying again and I realise that there is more to this than I had ever suspected. Kissing her forehead and wiping her cheeks I take her in my arms.

"Come with me. Tell me a story."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And she's told me everything. The girl. Cleveland. Everything. Her Mom. What happened.

Everything.

"Will?" Her voice is so small, so low, so quiet.

"Yeah?" I smile over at her at she sits opposite me on the dirty yellow quilt of a double bed in a one-room, one-bathroom, motel hotspot.

"Please stay with me. Don't go." I know I can't promise anything. I could be zapped out of here at any moment if Giles figures out what happened. Or if Anya told anyone.

I hazard a glance at her and she catches and searches my eyes, silently asking to be held. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and pray that the torture to come won't be too severe. I lean back against the raised pillows, lift my left arm and she huddles against me, wrapping me tightly in her grip. Oh Goddess.

Looking down at my knees, I softly tangle my fingers in her hair, trying at best to soothe the broken wonder on my lap. Her breathing slows and I feel my own relax in time. The arms enveloping me are warm beyond belief and I can feel the heat of them digging into my skin, creeping into my blood stream.

Moving from this position is going to be the hardest decision I will ever make.

No question.

Cross safely x


	5. First Glimpse Of Emerald City

**5. First Glimpse Of Emerald City**

It wasn't so much a searing, writhing pain as a tickly stab. Probably the closest likeness was to that of getting a tattoo... only with much larger needles.

Ethan Rayne lay swallowed by the Wilton carpet, truthfully unaware of what he had just accomplished.

"_...because it has all been done..._"

He could feel the concrete under the thick fabrics vibrating softly under his ear from the gentle pressure of sure footsteps. A pair of brilliantly shined leather shoes glided across his blinkered window of sight and disappeared again. Another pair of not so buffed, possibly mud-lined shoes trampled past heavily on their toes, helplessly dancing around the calm pair.

"_...she was ruined, Master, I saw it all..._"

He tried to move. Tried so hard but nothing wanted to. His brain was closing off without his knowledge, stopping the neurones abruptly in their bid to reach the arm he so desperately wanted to raise, or the leg he wanted to shift. God knows why. What good would it do him, really, to move right now? Either way he was going to die.

"_...did receive her present. So Mr. Rayne did deliver my message..._"

He heard a thud and felt a blunted toe-poke at his ribs. Anvil-heavy, his head swung to the left, willing the toe-bearer to come into focus. You bloody kick me again mate... and... and... and what? The toe-bearer was lost again in a sea of blurry darkness, then apparent. Then gone, then apparent. Bloody hell.

So this is dying... Taking its time a bit, isn't it?

"_...wake him up..._" He felt a slight nudge at his ribs again. "_...he's still alive..._"

The sodding Master was prodding him in the side with his foot. So, with all the energy he could muster...

"What?" he spat. "Surely we're finished here. I'd like to die in peace. A man needs his dignity, you know."

"Indeed, Mr. Rayne." The Master tapped his fingertips lightly together, humming slightly. He looked a bit pleased with himself, considering all he'd done was sit on his arse for the past millennia... Gliding in and out of consciousness, Ethan sighed heavily, waiting for the inevitable. "All I would like is to offer you my thanks in dealing with this matter."

The Brit rolled his eyes and sighed again, fed up beyond measure. "Right."

"I knew I could count on you. So snivelling, such the underdog." He paused for effect. "It's that thirst to prove yourself."

"Right." His eyes tuned in again to the darkness and off to one side he spotted Mr. Kick-'Em, smirking. Dodgy bastard.

"I was much the same you know," he continued humming through his leathery wrinkles. "I was the runt. Always had to live up to my elder siblings." He nodded to himself consolingly.

Ethan stared at him in disbelief, not caring if this was a load of horseshit or not.

"Right. Yeah." He sighed what he knew now was his final sigh. "Look, I really don't think this is the time for the Boss/Employee bonding session. Really. I can't move anything from the neck down, which isn't actually the agreed reward for doing my part of the deal, if you remember. You broke your word to me and that will come back to you I am sure, but right now, I really do have to get on with this dying business. So, if you would be so kind as to just _piss off_, I would be very grateful. Thank. You."

The Master gazed out through the deep ebony embedded in his walnut-like face and, after a calculating minute, shrugged. He smiled smugly down at the body on the rugs.

"Mr. Rayne, I see no reason why a vampire should deal with humans and have them expect him to keep his word. A demon is not evil so he can keep a promise. Even though I do like the spunk you've gained during you final few breaths." He grinned again at Ethan for the last time and turned to the toe-bearer.

"He did the spell. The Slayer will die. This is the one thing that plagues her... Kill him."

Ethan saw Mr. Kick-'Em smirk again. He rolled his eyes, closed them and simply waited for the kick to his temple, to take away the world, thinking his final thought.

Good bloody riddance.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A harsh rap at the door ripped him from his good luck drink. He stared down at it, twirling the ice around for the tinkling noise he loved to think would protect him during the night. Nothing else did. He placed the glass on the varnished surface next to him and picked up a bat, ready to open the door.

You can never be too careful in Sunnydale.

Cautiously he opened the door, very aware that it could be a daywalking demon or something else just as, if not more, threatening. Completely unaware that the slayer would be joining him.

"Buffy?"

"Hey." She said flippantly, guiding a young redhead in through the door by the hand.

"Hi Giles!" She waved furiously at him, grinning wildly.

He had no idea who she was.

"Um.. Hello." He ventured awkwardly, ignoring the intimacy between the two girls, but fearing it a little.

Willow turned her head to Buffy as they leant against the back of the sofa and raised an eyebrow, almost in permission. The slayer smiled delicately and let go of her hand causing the redhead to run into the less staunch but still very British man. She wrapped him in a tight hug, her arms gripping his ribs, and she mumbled into his jumper. He stumbled back a little and looked at the slayer in shock, who shrugged in the most unhelpful way possible, a small smirk playing on her lips, twisting the scar.

She let go of him and smiled gratefully knowing he was still alive, reminding her that there was always a little glimmer of hope, no matter how dark the cloud.

"Um... Hello?" He repeated again. No idea what to say.

"I'm Willow. You don't know who I am." It was a helpful statement. It was.

"Um. Yes, quite." He hesitated. "Feel free to explain anytime."

"Sorry." She caught herself and pulled out of the stare she had been lodged in. He looked so different. His face, his size, his clothes. His usually clean-shaven features were more rugged, even dashing, she would go so far to say. Like Buffy, his posture was also unlike that of her Giles'. He too seemed, maybe not hyper-aware, but more aware of his surroundings. He knew where his exits were and he had all four limbs and would use them at his discretion. The witch reached out gently and touched the arm of his shirt, not surprised when he peered at her cautiously, ready to use the bat. It was cotton and hung well on his possibly taller frame. This Giles had fought more battles than she had seen, she knew that. His body seemed bigger, wider and his arms were less lax than she had noticed them to be before. Her Giles walked with a hand in his suit pocket, ruffling the jacket, often twiddling with or waving about a book in the other hand, typical loafing stature. Here, the man that stood before her had tense, ready arms, and a stiff back. He walked to his drink with a purpose, lifted it with a purpose, drank it with a purpose, and placed it back on the bar with a purpose.

"Okay, from the top..."

------------------

"Well, that is quite a story." Giles, sat on a chair, scotch in one hand, chin in the other, said to the witch. It had certainly been a long journey for such a young girl. Seemed she had quite a bit of power.

Willow nodded slowly. Slowly to make sure he understood, slowly to not shake Buffy from her current position. During the tale, the ever impatient slayer having heard this all before and been there for part of it, had grown restless. She had wandered to his bookcase and began fingering the books. After glaring at a Willow-engrossed Giles for the swift ice-cube to the back of her head she had left the books. They weren't that interesting anyway. What exactly does he need to hide? Then she had wandered over to the refridgerator, searched for something to eat or drink, and glared again at the watcher for a second ice-cube to the back of the head, who, naturally, took no notice whatsoever. She sighed and spotted his drinks cabinet but figuring it really wasn't worth it, she had settled on the couch next to Willow, a hand guarding the lump she was gaining.

Now, the witch could feel the slayer's head resting on her blackened legs, dared not touch her and dared not move.

"Well, we should get you back, no question."

Willow, felt herself freeze. "Uh... no. No. Not yet." She stuttered. "There's more to this story."

Giles sat up again and leaned forward.

"But, it's not my place to tell, really." She added quickly.

Instantly, she regretted her words. Buffy had grown tense on her thighs and had sat up, running her hands through her hair.

"Buffy," she leaned in towards the blond, who let out a deep breath. "Buffy, you don't have to... I mean, it would help but, y'know, if it hurts too much I can--"

"No." Buffy sat fully upright again and turned to the man in the chair. "I saw my mother tonight."

Apparently, Willow figured, the watcher knew about Mrs. Summers' death, for his eyes widened slightly, giving him a panic-slash-confused expression.

The slayer continued. "She was dead... but she was walking."

"Not vampire?" asked Giles.

"No," she conceded. "No, not vampire. If anything I would say zombie. She was like a zombie."

Willow heard the crack in Buffy's voice and reached for her hand, holding it firmly, a foundation. The slayer seemed to pick up on the energy and, more emboldened, resumed her tale more solidly.

"She didn't seem to recognise me, but I don't know how it works. I think she had just risen. I really don't know zombies..."

"When we fought them before they didn't have any irises or pupils."

Both heads swivelled to the redhead. "Well... back in the other dimension we had to fight zombies on your first day back in Sunnydale." The faces on both heads wore blank expressions. "Different story for a different time," Willow said quietly. "The point is they were like Mrs. Summers--" Buffy's grip tightened a little "--but it was a mask thingy that brought them all to the house. An African mask."

"I don't have an African mask." Buffy said defensively.

"No, I mean... the other you, in the other dimension. Besides, it wasn't yours, it was from the gallery your Mom worked at. You hated it." The witch stated, unmoveable in opinion.

"No, Will, I mean, I don't have one now, so there's no way that could've... brought her back."

"No, indeed not." Giles sat, his chin in his hand once again, and thought with a gentle hum in the deep of his throat. To the books? though the witch. "I think we should, uh, research into this further," he stood up and made his way to the bookcase, muttering, "just to be sure."

Willow nodded.

Good to see that some things just don't change.

--------------------------------------------------

"God. Thump, thud, bang, boom, thump, thud. You'd think he was digging his books out of the walls."

Willow giggled in the noise. She and Buffy were sat beside the bookcase, rifling through the leather-bound journals, spell books and history volumes (Buffy tapped a book pointedly. "I told them Hitler was Hellmouthy"). The witch sat lotus on the rug, leafing through a grubby, worn _Evil For Dummies _quite comfortably, which Giles swore was a present from his Grandfather, where the little blond struggled to get settled on even one book.

"I don't do this." She kept saying. "I've never had to. My watcher does all of this for me, or I just stumble across them. I find, I fight, I kill." She sighed. "I don't do this."

"Then now is the best time to learn, isn't it?" Willow radiated such authority Buffy sat down immediately to her side.

"Were you a dictator in a past life? I feel very reprimanded." The witch heard the sparkle in the blonde's eyes, grateful for Buffy's sense of humour.

"It's all in the eyes," nodded Willow in experience, not ripping her attention from the book.

"It's very nice." The slayer grinned. Willow shook her head and continued to smile. She was so close to content right now. If it weren't for the looming zombie problem and knowing she really didn't belong here, Willow knew that using the word 'happy' for her current mood might not even be getting too radical.

Although, the happiness came with it's balance of guilt, as is always the case. Sat with the slayer in such close proximity to her, Willow could feel her there, feel her heat and presence. Half of her was focusing intently on the book, the other half clinging to the slayer's aura. It had never changed, since the day they first researched together, maybe even met. Yet, back home, the witch knew that she would never be only hers to study. Back home, Willow had to share Buffy. With Xander, and Oz, Cordelia, Giles, other people at school... But here Willow was one of the few things that Buffy knew, excluding vampires and all other unholy beings, and they had each other to themselves. In fact, the redhead, despite how little time they had spent together, was almost sure that she was possibly the only consistency and maybe the closest thing to Buffy in this world.

Which was heartbreaking to think about, honestly. Barely a day they had known each other and Willow had become Buffy's strength. Was it only because there was no one else? Maybe there really was something there... Something special.

A loud thud from above woke her. Willow shook herself. Just don't. Really, just don't.

Buffy was still mumbling curses at the paper in front of her, probably hoping the witch couldn't hear them. She was trying though, to give her the benefit of the doubt. She wasn't actively cursing them (which Willow had thought about on more than one occasion when faced with what seemed like fruitless research) and seemed to be settling for a thick, musty book. Willow, considering this odd, glanced questioningly at the slayer who turned with a little half-smile.

The witch felt her eyes burn and swell. Somewhere a light flickered inside her and tickled. Buffy's gentle smile, innocent as it may have seemed at first, had lingered just a little longer than a passing gesture, and had played with that light.

Willow's eyes lidded. She bit her bottom lip. She exhaled.

If only.

"Willow?" It was quiet, but loud enough to draw her from the world behind her eyelids. She focused on the writing to gather her bearings and turned with a soft 'hmm?' to the blond. Buffy had put the book down and was kneeling. "Are you.." She hesitated. Willow knew the question before it was asked, but she wanted to hear the slayer say it. The witch had the feeling that there weren't a lot of people that Buffy had ever asked this of before. "Are you ok?"

Willow nodded softly and a slow smile played her featured.

Buffy exhaled a measured breath. "I, uh... I have to ask you something." The witch's brow furrowed and fear crept from behind her ears to the nape of her neck delicately. When she didn't answer or turn away, Buffy took it as a sign to continue. "Why have you stayed? Why aren't you back with me somewhere else?"

Such a strange choice of words... back with me... Willow closed her dry mouth. She needed a drink.

"I.." Now she herself hesitated. Something left unsaid for so long needs preparation, and time, clearly, all wrapped up in a moment's hesitation. "I need to see you safe."

"You shouldn't be here. You should be there. With the other me. The me that doesn't know how lucky she is." Buffy admitted sullenly. "But... I just..."

"What?" Willow too was leaning closer now, trying to catch the subtext. "You just what?"

"You've been so good for me here." Buffy looked down at the book. "I never tell people things; I hardly stick around anywhere for more than a half-hour unless it's a really good fight. And I never really had a friend since Ashleigh." Her head hung a little lower. "I know I shouldn't ask you to fight with me but I'm going to anyway. I need you with me tonight. There's no way I can face her alone." She ran a small, elegant hand through her hair and turned her head towards the green-eyed witch. "Please. I swear, I will not let you get hurt... But I need you with me." The slayer was on the verge of tears again. Willow saw her dim, and grow smaller. She shook a little. Fear? Excitement?

The witch reached over to Buffy's hand and took it in her own, brushing her thumb back and forth over the skin. All doubts forgotten, all fear aside. "You should know you can't keep me away. Buffy has always been my best friend and it's not about to change now."

Buffy got to her feet and retrieved a tissue from its box on the coffee table. She held it between her fingers and stared at it, thumbing the soft material, still teary. Willow, feeling a hug coming on, stood also and picked her way quietly to the slayer. Lightly, she let her hand rest on the shoulder before her until Buffy turned and took the redhead into a soft embrace. Willow sighed into it, running her hand over the blonde blanket of hair. Buffy's chin rested on the taller girl and she pulled in tighter. The witch felt a small movement and heard something no louder than a breath.

"Thank you."

Willow smiled and pulled out of the embrace slightly to reach the slayer's forehead. She pressed her lips lightly onto the mochachino skin and teased the nerves in Buffy's cheeks. I need to see you safe.

Feeling the lips withdraw from her head the slayer let out a small, stifled sob and thinking of nothing but now, caught those lips again.

Willow inhaled sharply at the sudden onslaught of feelings. Her lungs tightened and caught in her throat, but she had to hold back. The kiss was so bittersweet to her, knowing that this could never happen again, knowing that she would never have this from any other girl, especially Buffy. Willow had never met anyone as mesmerizing as Buffy and knew she would never again. So much history backed this kiss that even the slayer before her wasn't aware of. Years of thanks, admiration and friendship shaped these lips and how they moved. She felt fingers drift into her hair, around her head, pulling her closer as they grew together. Buffy tasted of fear, pain and need and Willow caught a hint of salt as the mighty slayer cried into the kiss.

She backed away, ripping herself from Buffy's lips.

Immediately, Buffy's gaze drifted to the floor and her arms folded across her chest. "I'm sorry, I thought you wanted--"

"I do." Willow replied swiftly Oh Goddess, do I. "But I.. We..." She looked to the ceiling for inspiration. Her hands caught her temples as it fell back to eye level with the slayer. "How can this work, Buffy?"

Buffy's eyes hardened slightly. "I know. I- I get it."

"Buffy, this isn't about you. Well, it kinda is but not specifically, I mean--"

"Look," Buffy interjected," It's ok. I understand."

"No. You don't." Willow replied. "This... I do want it but I know it won't happen again."

"It doesn't have to," Buffy started. Her hands moved vehemently as she talked. "Life is short, Will. Sometimes you just have to do what you can, while you can."

"I can't, Buffy," she said quietly, but felt her resistance level mowed down to 1 as she saw the slayer visibly flinch. "There's so much in this that it's hard to tell what matters." Even Willow herself didn't understand fully just how accurate that sentence was.

"Can't you just let it go?" Buffy was dancing on the cliff edge of begging.

Willow knew this need. She had felt it. "Just for one more kiss?" She said in a tiny voice.

Buffy nodded. "Just for one more kiss..." she breathed in agreement.

Willow let go and found herself running her hand over Buffy's hair again, kissing her again, wanting her still. This time there was no melancholic twang, no bitter regrets, no heavy history. Just one more kiss. This may be the last time Willow ever kissed Buffy. The last time she ever kissed anyone like this again. So she let it have her and melted with it and as she felt Buffy climb into her, she reached out and welcomed it. Since the first time Buffy looked at her, in that hall as she ran, Willow knew she would fast become a part of her. Now she knew exactly which part.

She would always treasure Buffy on her lips.


	6. The Wizard's Quarters

**6. The Wizard's Quarters**

They stood in front of Giles' couch, waiting to be briefed.

"Okay, Buffy, at your request this will be a mission for just the three of us." Giles said. "Despite my having contacts," he added sourly.

"Look, Giles, I don't work well with others." She pressed. Then, catching his glance at Willow, added "That's different."

His brow raised but he said nothing else about it.

"I don't want you dragging them into it, Giles, if we can do this on our own. Buffy can do the fighting, we can do the magicks and it isn't a big day for anyone now so there won't be a party waiting for us at the factory. Surprise attack." She illustrated how much of a surprise it would be by waving her arms a bit and Giles softened.

"I just.. I don't want Oz to get hurt. In my dimension he gets shot. I'd rather I didn't take a chance with this one. I get the feeling something worse would happen." Her voice had quietened. Giles nodded.

"Very well." He acknowledged. They all nodded to each other and no one at the same time. Buffy squeezed Willow's hand and twisted hers to wrap their fingers together. The witch smiled at Buffy, glad of the contact, but wondered inwardly about her feelings for Oz.

She loved him, yeah, but there was something about this adventure that changed that love. She wasn't exactly sure how. Obviously, Buffy was a big part of that change but she'd been friends with Buffy for over two years now. Surely this had been gradual. She'd never thought about being with anyone else, but then, the prospect of having someone else, especially someone like Buffy, had never really occurred to her.

"Now, as you know I've found the spell to reverse what has been done to your mother but I need Willow's help to perform it, and it has to be near the body." Buffy visually stiffened at the word 'body'. "I suggest we do it in the factory, assuming we find her there."

Willow sighed. It was gonna be a long night and Giles had already been over what to do. The spell, the ingredients, the fighting. He even had Buffy training, despite the fact that she argued 'til she was blue in the face that he was not her watcher so he couldn't tell her what to do. The only thing that could possibly go wrong with this plan was if Willow was poofed out of here mid-spell.

She grasped Buffy's hand tighter. Her feelings were a mass of conflict. She'd never wanted to be here and be somewhere else so much equally before. She so badly wanted to stay with this Buffy, stay and help her, be her friend. After she went, who would Buffy have? Giles? She would have to go back to Cleveland, to her watcher. I could go with her in this dimension. Live with her. Be her... Be her what, Rosenburg? Be her girlfriend? Yeah, okay. Willow shook her head slightly. Well, it was very gentle actually, so it might just have been her eyes. That was the real reason she wanted to stay. To see what Buffy would do after this whole mission deal. Everybody knows that adrenaline heightens emotions thus rendering everyone mildly out of control with how they handle their feelings. Buffy might only have kissed Willow because she was there.

She shook her head again. This time it was a definite shake. There was no way Buffy would do that. Not her Buffy, and not this Buffy.

Suddenly, the slayer picked up her weapons, Giles picked up his ingredients, and Willow found herself being dragged out of the front door.

Oh. We're going.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a long walk to the factory, despite it being only a few blocks away. Buffy had suggested taking the car but Giles, ever sensible and cunning, thought it better to go in quietly and take them by, he waved his arms in the air a bit, 'surprise'. They had all agreed and for the entire walk, Willow had found herself on Buffy's arm, being protected from the nightmare she walked through. Sunnydale.

Soon enough, the factory came into view and Willow's nerves started playing up. This spell Giles had found was almost impossible to do for someone of her power but she had to try. It was intense and required a lot of concentration. She only hoped that Buffy could hold whatever might attack them at bay.

They entered through a side entrance into the room that Willow had poofed into not 24 hours ago. The machine, even though it had no one writhing on it, still looked as ugly and inhumane as ever. Giles moved swiftly to a corner of the room and began to set up the ingredients. Buffy stood with arms folded, naturally, in the centre of the room with a tight grip on her stake and assessed her surroundings then went off in search of the zombie. She hadn't said much and, the redhead noticed, her face had been the same stony expression since they left the house. It was a quarter fear of what she would see again, a quarter pain at what she had to remember to look for and a half pure determination. Buffy wanted this over.

Willow wondered if there had ever been a time where she had wanted to see Mr. Pointy so badly.

No.

"Willow?" Giles called quietly and pointed to the circle he had set up. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Here goes. She hoped the body was here. She wanted this over too.

Sure enough, Buffy returned, nodding her head. Giles silently asked of her whereabouts.

"Few rooms from here. With the Master." Giles froze. Buffy noticed. "I can handle him Giles. I'm the Slayer. It's what I do."

His eyes softened, his head lowered and he sighed. Willow watched intently at the proceedings. Even in this dimension, even though he'd hit her on the head with ice cubes and argued solidly with her about many different things... even though he'd known her for less than a day, he was worried. He liked her and he wanted to see her safe.

Crazy, Willow pondered, the way that things work. Of all the people to be concerned with seeing others safe, surely it should be Buffy, Guardian of the Hellmouth and world surrounding it. But all Giles and Willow wanted, was for Buffy to get through this. Why else would they be here? The protector was being looked out for by the protected. Kinda backward. Of course, Willow decided, that's the way Buffy works. And that's kinda what she does to people. Brings out their virtues. Brings out the best in them. In me.

Giles sat down opposite her and he began an incantation. Willow wasn't sure but from what he'd said it was a preliminary. Sort of like an offering as an apology for taking back what had been asked to do, even though he hadn't done any asking prior to this. It isn't typically a long p-

"SHIT." Buffy spun under the dirty arm that had her round the neck. Willow's head snapped to the slayer's direction to see her twisting back Joyce's arm. Giles began to speak faster, hearing the commotion. He knew what had happened. He had explained earlier why the body hadn't attacked Buffy at the cemetery. The spell that was performed was only to awaken Joyce Summers and bring her to her master. The Master. Then she would be given her orders, which were likely to be to kill the slayer. Guess she got them.

The body, as strong as any zombie would be, pulled its arm forward and brought Buffy with it. She hit the floor and rolled, getting straight back onto her feet. The zombie lurched forward at Buffy and she dodged it, delivering a swift left hook under the arm. The body stumbled sideways, regained its footing and advance on the slayer. Willow knew, without looking, still concentrating on the spell, that Buffy was holding back. She would do everything within her power not to disfigure the body more than it was. She circled it, not hunting now but dodging mostly, and hit out at the shoulder. The zombie spun and hit the floor.

"Now is as good a time as any to get that spell done, Giles." She called. "She's floo-"

"Hey! Slayer!" Willow's head snapped round again. This time in the direction of the voice. She knew that voice. She knew it all too well.

"Xander!" She shouted to him. Maybe, just maybe she could get through to him. To the real him.

He paid no heed and focused on Buffy. "Got somethin' for ya." He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a knife. Buffy was visibly shaken. And visibly shaking. Willow wasn't sure with what. It was either fear or anger and neither of those options seemed great in a fight for your life.

"Give. That. Back." It was Buffy's. Maybe that's what she had instead of Mr. Pointy. Willow sensed it had some sort of sentimental value.

"Why?" Xander giggled. It sounded so much like his usual giggle. The one he did when he was nervous or watching Charlie Brown's Christmas Special, but it was tainted. With evil. "So you can kill your mother with it again?" He smiled incredulously.

Willow knew it was special. She didn't know it was that special.

Buffy, staring hard at him, shot an arm out to her left. It caught the body on the chest, right over the heart. Willow heard a crack in between Giles' words. The body hit the floor, dangerously close to where she and Giles were sat. She exhaled anxiously.

Buffy continued to stare down Xander in all his bumpy glory. "That," she pointed to the zombie, "is NOT my mother."

Xander growled. "You're gonna die tonight, slayer."

Buffy sighed, and threw her head back to the ceiling. She shook her head and stared him down again.

"Whatever."

-------------------------------

"Willow." Giles said. She opened her eyes. "Now."

Her hand shot to the small pot beside her and she poured it onto the picture of Mrs. Summers, making sure to cover the entire face. A few words and that's it. She closed her eyes again and joined Giles in his incantations.

It was intense. It was magnificent. It was powerful. Willow could feel the power flowing through her. It danced around her mind and onto her finger tips. She could feel it there, crackling, waiting, begging to be used. Her pupils dilated and the hair on the nape of her neck stood up on end. She could feel everything in the room. Even the dead things. Buffy was buzzing with power. Willow could sense it. She didn't need the incantation. She could do it anyway. The power was there for the taking and it felt beautiful. It needed a release.

Enough of this.

"Release her."

The zombie, which had been advancing on Buffy as she fought with Xander, dropped to the floor. There was no showy death, no fancy convulsing. She just hit the floor like a rock. A dead weight.

Willow shook herself and came out of the spell. Her fingers still crackled ever-so-slightly and she still had goose-pimples, but her pupils had contracted and she could see Giles clearer now. His face was a picture. He looked half fearful. The bemusement in his eyes surprised Willow and she sent him a questioning glance.

"I'm sorry. I, I didn't know you had that sort of power." He cleared his throat. "You have a natural talent for magic, Willow, but it's a powerful thing and can become a need, an addiction. Don't take-"

"Take it for granted?" Willow finished. Giles nodded, still a little confused. "I won't. I don't. I, I'm just starting, really. I don't really know my limits." She spoke quickly. "It started last year when Buffy- the other Buffy- had to fight Angel."

Giles' brow furrowed. "Angelus." She corrected. "It's kinda a long story and we don't really have time fo-"

"GILES!" Buffy shouted. "STAKE!"

Willow, knowing she wasn't demanding a nice 8oz Rib Eye, picked up the stake and threw it to Buffy. The slayer caught it easily and, as soon as it was in her hand, delivered an uppercut to Xander's jaw. He flew back and hit the ground heavily. Willow knew what was coming next. Buffy would stake him and he would be dust. Xander. The boy she had grown up with. Surely their childhood here was the same as it had been in the other dimension. Up until Buffy didn't come to Sunnydale when they both changed. But yesterday, back in the very same room she was standing in now, she knew that he still saw her as a vampire. They were still friends. Even if they were dead. That meant something. That they were friends even though they were evil. It had to mean something. She could save him. She could bring him out of the evil... She could try.

"BUFFY, NO!" Buffy stopped an inch from Xander's heart, but held it there, daring him to move. Willow approached her, brushing down her clothes automatically. "Nice reflexes." She gave.

"Well, y'know. I work out." Buffy smiled at her friend. Then reeled back. The footprint on her black sweater caught Willow's eye and before she could panic, she felt a cold hand thump the side of her head and the cold floor hit her front.

Xander. Xander had hit her. Her head was craned back by a hand in her hair and she was lifted vertical again by a strong limb from under her arm and across her chest. The hand on the end of it held her shoulder tightly and the other moved her head to the right, baring her neck for all to see. A voice whispered in her ear. The same voice she had recognised just minutes before.

"You're no fun like this." Xander said, and went in for the kill.

"She's more fun than you are." Buffy caught him by the shoulders and pulled him off Willow, in turn pulling her onto the floor but free of his grasp. The witch turned to see Buffy throw him into a wall and pull out her stake.

"Well, well." New voice. "Quite a raucous you've caused here."

Buffy's head swivelled over to the Master's standing place, giving Xander the chance to slip away. She didn't care. This was the reason she came to Sunnydale. This was going to be finished.

"Now," he grinned smugly, eyes twinkling with excitement in his walnut-shell head. "Now I'm going to kill you."

The slayer took off at a run and jumped into roundhouse kick to the jaw. He staggered and stumbled back against the doorjamb. Buffy sniggered and shook her head at him. "You can try."

Unexpectedly, he smiled. Quick as, he lashed out at her and she swivelled her top half bringing her right arm up to block his left jab, leaving his chest open for a counter attack. She tried, but he caught her wrist, twisting it violently downwards. She flipped, cartwheeling in mid-air, and landed perfectly, twisting his arm and bringing it up in the process with a swift backhand to the right of his ribcage. He stumbled again, but not as much as she'd expected and came back with a hard left hook to the face. She hit the floor. He was stronger than he looked, Willow deducted, but then, she didn't suppose you get called the Master for being good at picking strawberries.

Willow almost ran to Buffy, but Giles held her back, going in himself. He charged the Master, tackling him from the left and they both hit the floor. Giles got to his feet quickly and produced a stake from what looked to Willow liked nowhere. He swung it down but the Master caught his arm with his left hand and grinned at the watcher.

"Pitiful." He laughed, and knocked Giles into a wall with his right hand. Willow saw the contact with the concrete and knew that it had knocked Giles out. He had hit the wall pretty hard with his head. Laid on the ground there wasn't much he could do now. So it was up to Willow to help. She shifted on her feet. She had no idea what to do, how to help. How do you help a slayer without getting in the way? Buffy had rolled onto her feet now and was fighting the Master again with all she had.

She wasn't winning though. The Master swung again, this time catching her stomach, winding her, and he kicked her very smoothly into the wall that stood behind her.

It was now that Xander decided to rejoin the party. He strolled in from the entrance she, Buffy and Giles had used previously and stood beside the Master, grinning. The hunger in his eyes was almost too much to bear. The Master moved in towards Buffy, as did Xander, who stood in fighting stance, calculating her odds against two rather than just the one.

Time to stop that calculating. Willow thought.

"Buffy!" She knew the slayer wouldn't look. She knew why Willow had shouted. Xander swivelled around, hearing the call. He looked to the Master, who nodded, and advanced towards the young redhead. Willow panicked. Her breathing became shallow, her nerves tickled, her eyes twitched along with other body parts and she swallowed. For a split second, it felt like she was back in Giles' front room, about to do the most courageous thing she would ever do - kiss Buffy, which she did. And for a split second, she felt powerful.

Xander dived for her, and she ran at a right angle. Xander switched his footing and followed, diving again and catching her legs. She fell forward, cracking her forearms on the floor but saw what she had been heading for. She scrambled to the weapons bag that Buffy had brought and grabbed a long sword. Xander laughed down at her, knocking the sword across the room and threw himself onto her, going for the kill again.

Willow coughed the dust out of her mouth, spitting and choking it out, throwing the stake back into the bag. She rubbed the left of her chest where the end of the stake had dug into her as his weight fell onto the pointier end. She sniffed a little, and bit her bottom lip. She'd just killed her best friend.

"WILL!" She grabbed the stake again and ran over to where Buffy was, just around one of the wooden corners, to see the Master knock the sword from her hand and pushed the slayer against the conveyer belt of the blood machine. She hit it hard but managed a round kick to the right of his face, grounding him. Willow's breath caught and she did all she could do and threw the sword to Buffy, who was weaponless. She caught it again so smoothly just as the Master swung in front of her. Willow couldn't see Buffy now, her vision obscured by the Master, but she heard an almighty growl, then a screeching, retching noise, and the Master's head came clean off his shoulders. He slumped to the floor. Willow ran up to Buffy, smiling and laughing, but stopped abruptly.

She was bleeding. Violently. From her chest. From the heart.

He did it. He said he'd kill her. He hit her right in the heart. Ripped her open.

"No." Willow was shaking. She could feel every part of her body shaking.

"No." She repeated.

"Buffy." The slayer's eyes were closed and she was twitching. The blood was pouring from her chest. She was lying in her own blood.

Without thinking, Willow dragged Buffy away from the Master. She laid her head on a pile of wood.

Buffy's mouth was open and her breath came in short gasps. Her face was wet. The witch didn't know when she had started crying.

Didn't care.

"Buffy! Buffy, no! Please! Please don't die!" Buffy continued to twitch violently, eyes still closed, mouth hanging open. Her throat kept catching on air. Small choking noises escaped her lips.

"Buffy! Buffy!" Willow shook the slayer. She was desperate. She knew she was going to die but she had to see her. She had to see her eyes. "Buffy, please! Open your eyes!"

Willow fell from her position on her knees and sat on the floor, still shaking Buffy fiercely. Her eyes poured, her nose poured, it was hurting her head. She didn't notice.

"Buffy, please," she cried, "please, look at me."

The slayer, still convulsing, soaked in her own blood, moved her mouth. No sound came out. But Willow saw it. She wiped the hair from Buffy's forehead. She wasn't careful, or gentle, but it didn't matter. Buffy's eyelids twitched and they opened. They were heavy and it hurt so much to move her eyes, but Buffy looked at Willow.

Willow saw. She cried harder. "Oh, Buffy! I tried to- I tried to save you. I- I thought-, he didn't have a head and-, I-"

Buffy closed her eyes slowly and closed her mouth. Her body had stilled slightly. She was going to die soon. She was cold. Every part of her. Except her cheek. That's where Willow's hand was. She could feel the warmth coming from the girl who had changed a big part of her, made her look at her short life with a little less cynicism and a little more hope. Not hope for herself, but hope for the world. Knowing that there were people like Willow in it made Buffy feel better about her job. Old job now. Willow changed the way she saw it. She wasn't just a slayer, she was a protector. And she was a friend.

She opened her eyes again and smiled at the redhead above her. She caught her eyes and tried as hard as she could to tell her what she was just thinking, hoping that Willow understood what she was trying to convey with just one look. If not, all she could hope for was that Willow knew that she was loved and that it didn't matter in which way. All that mattered was that she was loved greatly and deeply by Buffy. By every Buffy, she was willing to wager.

Willow, who couldn't read minds, was at a loss. But she felt what Buffy felt, and she smiled back at the slayer and leaned forward as Buffy's eyes closed and her twitches subsided. She pressed her lips gently to her forehead, as she had done back in Giles' apartment, and, as she had also done before, kissed Buffy's bloody, cold lips goodbye, feeling the warmth that she would always remember.

Light blinded her and she felt the world around fall away.


	7. Epilogue No Place Like Home

**Epilogue - There's No Place Like Home**

Cold.

Ow.

Sore.

Ow.

Willow raised her head. It was heavy, and her temples throbbed. Her eyes stung violently and her throat felt like someone had squeezed it until her eyes were bloodshot. She coughed and lifted herself up from the cold, hard tiles. Sniffing and coughing she got to her feet and wiped the hair out of her face.

She was back school. In the classroom where she and Anya had done that spell. Anya wasn't there and it was dark so, she decided, she must be back at the same time she left the other dimension. Well, more or less. She wasn't sure how long she's been laid on the floor.

Her bag had gone. Someone would've found it. Maybe Buffy or one of the others.

Her nose tickled again and her eyes filled up. It hurt so much to cry but she couldn't help it. It would be a long time before she got over what she'd just seen. The image of Buffy was still fresh in her mind. Buffy shaking and bleeding. Buffy dying.

She walked over to the door, wiping her eyes and tried the door handle. Open. Why does no one ever lock this place? She exited into the hall. Library. That's her best bet at finding someone as soon as possible.

She ran through the double doors.

"Buffy? Xander? Giles?" She called. "Oz?"

Her voice bounced off the walls and she ran up the stairs after checking Giles' office, into the book stands.

Nothing.

She stood thinking. Buffy's house? Probably the next best bet.

"WILL?" It sounded half-crazed.

Buffy.

Willow shot from the stands and down the stairs. Buffy was stood by the table, arms tense, hands in fists. Seeing Willow, she ran towards the steps. Her eyes sparkled with moisture and she didn't take them off the redhead.

They met at the bottom in a desperate embrace.

"Oh God, Buffy! It was horrible! I- You-" She couldn't get her words out. She was so relieved to see Buffy alive, walking, talking.

Buffy withdrew from the hug and held Willow by the shoulders steadily. "It's ok. You're back now." She let go of the breath she had been holding since Willow had disappeared and sniffed back some tears.

"Oh God, Will. I thought I'd lost you." She hugged her friend tighter. "I was so scared I'd lost you."

After a long, silenced hug, the two friends pulled apart and looked each other in the eyes, smiling. Buffy was the first to speak. She held out a hand to Willow and gestured gently to the library doors.

"Come with me. Tell me a story."

Willow was taken aback slightly, hearing these words, but smiled and took Buffy's hand. The slayer swivelled her hand round, entwining their fingers and Willow laughed.

"What?" Buffy was confused.

"Don't worry. I'll let you in on the joke." She said, and they left the library, heading for Revello Drive.

------------------------------------------------

Buffy sat in stunned silence.

"You were always meant to be killed by the Master. It was just different there." Willow conceded. She had calmed herself a bit now, even though she'd lost control a little earlier and a few tears had slipped out. Her eyes still stung and her temples were still aching but she felt so much better sat with Buffy. She always did.

Buffy hadn't cried but Willow could tell she had taken the story quite hard. A story of your worst life can hit home.

The slayer sighed heavily.

"God," she began. "That's the sort of thing that really makes me feel lucky to live in this dimension. Mom, dead. Xander, dead. You. Dead." She shook her head. "Not to mention one hell of a scar."

Willow nodded. "It was awful. It was like, every time you looked in the mirror, you were reminded, y'know, about what happened in Cleveland. As if you would forget."

"Guess I wasn't much of a mirror person." Buffy said.

"When we first talked I tried to touch it but you wouldn't let me at all. Not until we-" She stopped in her tracks, frozen.

Willow, reliable-dog-geyser-person that she was, did NOT mention the kissing. It wasn't the sort of thing that she would talk about. Ever.

"Until we, what?" Buffy searched. "C'mon, Will."

Still, even though she lost a lot in that dimension, she gained two things. One of which was just a bit more courage.

"Um, Buffy, in the other dimension, I don't know why, and I don't think it was one of those world changing things, I mean, it was changing, in a way, but not in a huge way, but-" Willow stopped. She took a deep breath, halting the nervous babble. "We kissed." She admitted. Then added: "Actually, you kissed me."

Buffy's eyebrows shot right up. "Wow."

Willow stared around the room, nodding mindlessly. She glanced sidelong at Buffy, who was staring at the duvet, brow furrowed. She looked up at Willow, asking for the truth with her eyes.

"Was it weird?"

"OH yeah." Willow gave. It was.

Buffy's tone shifted and she grinned.

"Was I any good?"

"OH yeah." Willow repeated, laughing.

The friends sat together comfortably, giggling quietly to themselves, but Willow, remembering the whole thing, the feeling, the warmth of it, grew sullen. Buffy noticed and followed suit, subconsciously knowing that Willow needed her to listen.

"It did change something in me though, Buffy. Changed the part of you that's in me."

Buffy inched a bit on the bed, a little apprehensive of the coming admittance. She really liked Willow but she'd never really thought about it in any other way than friendship, mainly because it's not the sort of thing she had time to think about right now. Maybe in the future, when she knew more about life or about love... Who knows what can happen in a week, let alone a lifetime.

Willow noticed her mood and explained.

"No. Not drastically. Don't worry." She laughed through her nose. "I'm not gonna start sending you Valentine's Cards or doing love spells."

Buffy laughed too, less worried that Willow was going to asking something from her that she couldn't decide on without a year or so's more experience under her belt.

"It just made me realise that I love you, Buffy. And that it doesn't matter how. It doesn't matter if I love you as a friend, or like a sister, or something more. The point is that I will always be right here, fighting the good fight with you because I love you and..." She paused, trying to figure out how to end her little speech. "I just thought you should know that."

It was kind of a lame finish but Buffy appreciated it. Her eyes had moistened and the light from the window caught in them. They glistened slightly and Willow remembered seeing Buffy crying in Giles' front room. She smiled to herself, thinking of what happened afterwards.

"I love you too." Buffy said quietly.

Willow, getting teary herself, leaned over to Buffy and they shared a hug. It was languid and warm and Willow inhaled deeply, knowing this was a milestone in her friendship with the slayer. She wanted to remember it forever.

Then, out of the blue, Buffy pulled out of the hug and kissed her friend. It was short and closed, unlike the other, but it too was tainted with salt and need, and love. Buffy's lips were just as warm and Willow smiled at the gesture, knowing that she had partly done that for her, and partly because she wanted to.

They sat smiling, so grateful to have each other, wiping at their eyes.

"Uh..." Buffy started. Willow looked up expectedly. Buffy grinned. "Let's not tell Xander about this."

Willow laughed and they got up from the bed together, heading out into the hallway.

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THANK YOU


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